Frozen Planet
by Cavaticarose
Summary: Set within the last part of Worst-Laid Plans. Shepard goes to Alchera, and spends some time thinking about her old crew.


**Shepard**

I have to go alone.

Joker still has to oversee ship repairs, but I know I wouldn't dream of taking him down here. Couldn't pay me to see the guilt and pain on his face. When I punched in the coordinates, the too-long silence, the way his eyes turned flat. That hurt more than words.

Chakwas was there. She too, saw the flames head-on, and was one of the lucky few to evacuate first. One of the first ones I loaded into the pod. And as luck would have it, dragged her right back out of another pod. That's not even luck. More like a kick in the groin from the cosmos.

I trudge through the ice, looking around at wreckage strewn across the landscape. Scraps and battered pieces of the finest boat in the galaxy, poking out the ground like shitty metal weeds. I laugh out loud, the sound harsh against the air. _Joker, there was no way you'd save this ship._ A sparkle on the ground catches my eye. Draven's tags.

It's quiet. Peaceful, in a graveyard sort of way. Loot through my old home, gather burnt frozen relics, and collect dog tags. Try to forget the flames, the screams, the searing pain in my lungs and throat, even though it's staring me down. Laid bare across this wasteland. Try not to think about where my body lay.

I try instead to think about the Draven sisters, and how for an entire week they refused to share meals because Roz and Tali crypto'd Talitha's omni-tool. Another tag, and I think about Harvey, how happy he was to be a new father to a beautiful little girl, Lilian. Another tag. Tucks, and the ridiculous card games he taught us all down in the mess.

And then I see him. The old M35 Mako. A beast to drive, but it was my beast. I stroke the side of the vehicle, and on a whim, I wrench the door open. Inside, it was virtually unchanged, save for a few loose consoles. It smelled metallic and forgotten, and dust littered the air inside. I honestly shouldn't be surprised he could take a fall, but damn.

Something on the floor catches my eye. When I pick it up, it's an actual photo, not a holo, of the old Normandy ground crew. Old, because Ashley's there, beaming her face off. This must have been taken… damn. Just before Virmire. One last supply run.

Out of habit, I check the back. There's something written on it in a script I recognize, but can't read. I check it against my omni-tool, then immediately choke back a sob.

 _Commander,_

 _Dr. T'Soni shared some of her zealous record-keeping with the crew. Thought you might like a copy of this one. It was a pleasure serving under you, and I look forward to the day I can work with you as a Spectre. Good luck out in the Traverse, and may your gun always shoot straight._

 _G. Vakarian_

 _That sneaky bastard_. I grin, eyes stinging as a wild shudder washes over me. _I'm sorry._ The grin stays plastered to my face, contorting into something terrible, terrifying. Freezing fire burns through my chest, and I feel my stomach heave, hear a wretched sound escape my throat. I choke back bile that shouldn't be there.

Those times felt so straightforward. Clean, quick, and damn near fun. I still felt like me.

And now? Now I have a team of misfits, alive and better for it. And I'm leaving them too. Things won't be the same this time either. Another chapter closed.

Mission accomplished.

I look down at the picture. He was so much younger, then. Turians weren't exactly bulky, but the one I know now seems a brick compared to the kid in the picture. I would never have called the Garrus back then a pushover, but the one now?

Hell, he might even be able to kick Wrex's ass.

 _And he stood by you to the end._

Omega didn't kill Garrus, but he sure as hell isn't the same person in the picture. And he may not have died like I did, but there's a part of him that'll never be the same. I worry about my part in it. How much weight my words carried. He'll probably never say what really made him go to Omega, and deep down, I sure as hell don't want to know.

Some questions are better left unanswered.

Sighing, I tuck the photo in with the dog tags, and climb out of the Mako. I trudge back, seeing the larger than life letters of the Normandy cutting across the starry sky. I place a hand on the monument, smooth, shiny, and gleaming of false hope. The dead live here now.

Time to move on.

I trudge through my cabin doors, and see Garrus on the couch looking over a datapad. His head perks up as he sees me come in.

"Hey. How'd it go?" he asks.

"Eh, you know. The usual. Sad as hell. Cold. Perfect little place for a morgue." My voice feels far away, even to me.

"Consider somewhere tropical next time. No rush, of course." He watches me as I dump my armor in the corner.

"Of course," I respond, too drained for witty banter. "So, uh…" I take out the photo and hand it to him.

"Huh." He grips it, mandibles fluttering, then snapping shut "I… wasn't expecting to see that again. Not that I should have, but…"

He trails off, and I lean against the couch arm. We stay like that for awhile, both looking at the slightly faded picture. I become aware of his hand resting on my waist. I lean in, feeling heat radiate off him.

"It wasn't your fault," he says finally. "You made the best call you could, given the circumstances. I was there. With you."

"I know. Just…" I wave a useless hand, then walk towards the minibar. "You can't help but wonder what if, right?" I pour a glass of wine, some dextro-friendly stuff Garrus picked up weeks ago, on the promise that we'd make it out alive.

"Sure. But what's the point of 'what if,' Shepard?" His sharp gaze softens. "It's in the past. You can't change that, even… Even if you wanted to."

"Yeah…" I feel embarrassed for even bringing it up. I'm pissed about losing so many from something years ago. They were already mourned. Dead a long time. And his crew? Not so long. "Least I got you, right?" I take a gulp and fight back the sting in my eyes.

He draws his mandible close to his face, and I immediately regret my choice of words. Neither one of us knows what's next, and the last thing I want to do is pressure him.

Instead he chuckles, harsh and dry. "You do. You should know that by now. You say you've got me, then I would say as long as you'll have me."

The thought of that makes me smile. I fuss with the pile of dog tags idly, and down the rest of my glass.

"Sounds like a nice long stretch of time, big guy."


End file.
